Eating Away at My Roots

I watch you as you run, kept safe behind a tree. It's hard to tell what's fur and what's bark - they're the same shade of dark brown at this time of night. You move so elegantly, like a gazelle. It's hard to believe how easily you could tear one to pieces.

You've stopped. I creep closer, daring to look out from behind the trunk. You're sniffing the air - you must've found prey. I'm proven right when you put your nose down in the leaves and begin stalking slowly.

The grass beside me rustles. I wouldn't hear it if I were any farther away, but you have better hearing than I do. I slip around the other side of the tree just as you approach, barely in time to see you lick your jowls. It makes me shudder in disgust and admiration all at once.

It happens fast. The rabbit makes the fatal error of poking its twitching nose out of the safety of the log, and before it even has the chance to smell you, it's being dragged out. Teeth snap loudly and mercilessly as you let out your rage on the small creature, pulling it apart like a ragdoll. When there's nothing left but scraps, you pull your head up and howl. A shiver hits me full on, rattling right down to my bones.

I don't waste any more time. I slip away quietly, darting around crisp leaves and fallen branches on my way out of the forest. I refuse to indulge in your need for violence. I watch, but from a distance. It's a reminder to myself of what you're capable of at night. And I won't ever let myself become the next outlet.